


My Brother, My Life

by khan_noonien_singh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Feels, Post Reichenbach, Reichenfeels, Sorry Not Sorry, Suicidal Thoughts, TW - Suicide, reposted from deviantART, written in 5 min
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khan_noonien_singh/pseuds/khan_noonien_singh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fall had been all planned out, but something went wrong, and Sherlock died. Mycroft is so distraught over Sherlock's death that he commits suicide in order to be with his brother. Can be read as Holmescest/Mylock or just brotherly loyalty.</p>
<p>WARNING: YOUR FEELS WILL BE AFFECTED</p>
<p>Reposted from my dA account</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Brother, My Life

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in less than 5 minutes, so there are bound to be mistakes... but I hope you all like this, if only for my writing style and not the subject matter...

"Goodbye, John."

Those were the last words that Sherlock Holmes ever said. He fell, like an angel of death, from the rooftop of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. He and his brother had planned out a great escape from death, but something went wrong, and instead of being alive, Sherlock hit the concrete with a sickening crack. Neck broken, cracked skull, there was no way he could have survived.

Mycroft was the only one to not go to the funeral, because he couldn't, wouldn't believe that his baby brother, the one he had loved for so many years and couldn't tell him, was gone from this life. He poured himself another shot of scotch, but didn't drink it, instead swirling the amber liquid around in the glass. Why did Sherlock have to die, and why did he have to leave Mycroft feeling so dead and alone?

Mycroft's hand reached, seemingly of its own accord, to his letter opener, which he picked up and tilted, watching light gleam off the razor-sharp edge. He'd join his brother, he decided. Even though it meant suicide, he had to be with Sherlock. He locked his office door and closed the blinds, then sat back down at his desk, letter opener in hand. He pressed the glittering blade to his left wrist, wincing in pain as it slit through the skin like the envelopes it was so accustomed to opening. Blood welled up through the incision, and Mycroft watched in fascination as his very life flowed out of that one wound. He took the blade in his slowly-numbing left hand and sliced open his right wrist, not fazed at all by his blood loss so far as the world began to fade.

\-----

The next morning, he was discovered, declared deceased, by Anthea. He had left his laptop on, with one file open. A text file with a message that read:

"I'm on my way, Sherlock. -MH"

\-----

\--FIN--


End file.
